Your Friends Called You Molly
by SpearmintMirage
Summary: As Lucien questions the lost years of his life, a soft-spoken barbarian offers him answers. [Lucien (Mollymauk), Yasha, Jester]


While not the finest hotel in the Empire, The Peahen's Roost was a sight to behold to an adventurer. Three stories high, its walls were constructed of fine wood clean of splinters and its doors were adorned with shiny metal knockers and doorknobs (though one of the latter seemed to be missing). Windows and balcony doors were left open in the autumn whether, overlooking the vast free fields of the countryside.

A purple tiefling sat on the floor of an empty balcony, back against the wall, watching the sky peeking over the railing. A pleasant wind cooled his scarred chest and shoulders, its subtle flow the only sound he could stand right now. The bickering and sputtering of the others had grated hard on him, and only time by himself could sand down the jaded edges.

He should have been happy that nearly everything had gone according to plan. Except instead of waking up in the company of his friends, Lucien had opened his eyes to an unfamiliar pack of assholes who had as few answers as he did.

The dwarf in armor couldn't look at him without regret and cigarette smoke clouding her eyes, though she didn't seem to know much about him anyway. There was the scruffy one with the cat, but he remained unnervingly distant and buried in his books. The monk from the Cobalt Soul had nearly choked him when she put the pieces together. The only one who had been able to explain things coherently was a _goblin_ of all things, and even then she hadn't exactly soothed his worries. He had seen but a few glimpses of the other three, but he didn't expect much different. Despite being such a colorful group, none of them were what he needed right now.

Colorful. Gods, had he woken up colorful.

The coat he'd been wearing drowned him so much in kitsch that the first moment he had alone he threw it and the shirt underneath onto his bed. That only forced him to see the new tattoos curling around his body, a collage from snakes to suns designed around the red markings left from the ritual. (At least he remembered _that_.) He could live with those – he appreciated fine art, to a degree – but the assortment of jewelry that pierced and constricted his horns was so unbearable it too was quickly cast off.

He traced the small holes in his horns, wondering how he could have done all this to himself, as if he wasn't good enough the way he was.

The door creaked opened. He expected the angry one coming to berate him, but instead he found the barbarian.

She was at least a quarter-foot taller than him, and twice as muscular. He couldn't quite tell what race her pale skin and white-tipped black hair implied, and her heterochromatic eyes had a hollow look to them, like she had witnessed things that most people shouldn't.

"Can I join you?"

Her voice was oddly soft for someone who could crush his skull.

He hesitantly nodded, and the woman sat across from him, cross-legged. She removed her sheathed greatsword and laid it beside her, hilt away from her rough hands. Silence blanketed the pair before she spoke up.

"Molly…I mean, Lucien -" She stopped. "Sorry, is it 'Lucien' or 'Nonogon'?"

He was startled that she knew both his old and new moniker. "Either is fine. But how do you know those names?"

"That is…what I'm here to talk about, actually."

Again, he was tense, but her gentle words and his curiosity kept him from running. "Go on."

"I know this must be strange for you, but we want to help you, you know. You were our comrade after all."

"I don't get that feeling from everyone."

"Beau is just…temperamental. She cares, she's just not good at showing it. Caleb too."

He thought to commit those names to memory but couldn't find the energy. They'd probably be in the past soon enough anyway.

"We're all curious about where you came from." She tapped her fingers against her leg. "You didn't know your past and never liked talking about it in the first place, so now we feel like we have a chance to ask. But before all that, I think you deserve to know how you got here. The part you _don't_ remember."

"No offense, but why should I trust your word?"

"Because you were my best friend."

Lucien could recognize a lie from the first word, and the genuine dejection in her tone struck his heart.

"Alright." He sighed. "Let's start from the beginning: what was my name again? 'Molly'?"

"Mollymauk Tealeaf. 'Molly' to your friends."

"'Tealeaf'." He laughed. "That's terrible."

'And 'Nonogon' isn't?' He expected her to say, but she didn't. His amusement subsided as an inevitable question begged to be answered.

"How long has it been?"

"Two years since we found you."

Two years. Two godforsaken years wasted on frivolity and recklessness.

A wave of emotion left him momentarily stunned. He didn't bother withholding a gasp, but he followed up with a deep breath.

"Where did you find me?"

"Alone by your grave, or what we figured was your grave. You'd crawled out of it yourself, but you weren't in good shape."

"Bleeding? Bruised?"

"More like…distraught. 'Catatonic' might be the right word. For weeks you could only say one word."

"Which was…?"

"'Empty'."

He shivered. Filling in the gap in his memory was supposed to be reassuring, but he was starting to regret asking.

"And after you found me?"

"You joined the circus with us. We traveled together for almost two years, going town to town."

"The circus, huh?" He would have made a joke if he wasn't so shaken. "What was my act?"

"You mostly advertised. But you were quite good at reading fortunes."

Fortunes. So he was a con artist too. Of course, considering his own powers, maybe anything was possible.

She continued. "Then we came to a city called Trostenwald, and things…changed. The circus fell apart, we met these people," She gestured to the door of the balcony, "And we've been traveling with them ever since. Eventually we met someone named 'The Gentleman'…and someone who recognized you. She knew your name."

His pointed ears perked up. "Who?"

"She was a…what are they called? The cat people?"

"Tabaxi?" He sighed in relief. "Must be Cree. Glad she made it."

"After that we took a couple of jobs from him, and while we were traveling we – Jester, Fjord, and I – were kidnapped by slavers. The rest of you went looking for us and when you found the slavers…."

"They axed me." He finished.

"Actually it was a glaive I think. But yes."

"Did I at least go out fighting?"

"I don't know. I wasn't there. But knowing you, I'm sure you did."

'Knowing you', she says, as if he could say the same. Still, that didn't sound atypical of him, so perhaps he hadn't been as different as he thought.

"Now I have a question for you." She said.

"Shoot."

"You – or Molly, I guess, was sure that he didn't want to know who he was before he woke up. He felt like you were a different person, and he didn't want to know who."

That stung Lucien a little, but he supposed he couldn't blame himself.

"But you do seem like a different person, you know? I told you what happened to you, but maybe…" She struggled to find the right wording. "Do you want to know _who_ you were these last couple of years? Who 'Molly' was?"

He glanced over the tattoos staining his skin and thought about the tragic coat and piercings he had left behind. Just the thought of being someone so pompous irritated him.

"Yes."

A smile tugged at her lips. She turned to the door and shouted, voice finally proving its potential. "Jester! Can you come here? And bring your sketchbook!"

A few moments passed before the door opened and a blue tielfing holding a spiral sketchbook stepped out onto the balcony. Her eyes were light blue, but unlike most of her species, vibrant irises laid on top. She wore a pretty cape and dress, uncharacteristic of an adventurer, with ruffles lining the hem of her skirt. There was an air of melancholy surrounding her, and Lucien could only guess why.

"What is it?"

"Do you mind sitting with us for a little while?" Her teammate asked.

When she noticed Lucien, her expression brightened. With a single skip in her step she scooted in right beside him, clearly not the type to concern herself with a stranger's personal space. Up close, he studied her features, and beneath a smattering of freckles something caught his attention.

"You look familiar."

She took a sharp breath. "Really?"

"I don't think we've met, but this -" He gestured over his face, "Is ringing a bell."

She pondered then her eyes lit up. "Have you ever been with the Ruby of the Sea?"

Not a question he expected, and a personal one, but he was honest. "Once."

"Well," She said proudly, "I'm her daughter, you know."

"Is that so? I didn't know she had one." He smirked and quirked an eyebrow. "Are you anything like her?"

"Well, she's more beautiful than me and she doesn't draw or follow the Traveler. But she used to say we were like 'two peas in a pod', so I guess we have some things in common." She leaned in. "I'd rather be a scone than a pea, but don't tell her that."

That wasn't exactly what he had implied, but he liked her answer anyway. "My lips are sealed."

"Jester." The barbarian woman piped up. "I was wondering if you could tell Lucian about Molly."

Again, the smaller girl shed another shade of sadness and thought hard about where to start. "Well, let's see. Molly was…good. He always knew what to say to people even if it didn't end up working. But he was also really strong too and he fought all kinds of monsters with us. One time, he yelled at a giant spider and it _died_."

Alright, some respect there, Lucien supposed.

"He was sweet though." She said fondly. "Sometimes he gave me little forehead kisses when I was sad. And he always gave money to other people too, even people who tried to kill us."

Strange, Lucien had never thought of himself as generous and 'Molly' had sounded like an asshole up until now. But he should have expected surprises from such a capricious sounding man.

"He loved partying." She went on, her thoughts gaining momentum. "We went to a gnome city and we danced around the streets and watched fireworks and waltzed inside a tavern. He was _so good_ at dancing. And he could do all kinds of tricks! He could read fortunes and juggle swords and - oh! Hold on!"

She flipped through her sketchbook and showed a page to Lucien, a portrait of someone he recognized from his reflection. He didn't remember this woman but there was no doubt she knew him.

Sure, below the neck was faint evidence of a crude attempt at a body, but it hardly took away from her art. His features had been replicated with stunning accuracy, from the waves in his hair to the small dimples in his smirk. The detail of his tattoos was almost startling, like he could imagine her staring at them for hours. The tacky horn baubles were in place but seeing them from another perspective gave him second thoughts about stowing them away.

He had never thought of himself as beautiful, but now he could almost believe it.

His attention turned to her. The Ruby of the Sea conjured up certain images by name alone, but all he could focus on with her progeny was her sweet simper.

"What was your name again, dear?"

"Jester."

"I think I like you, Jester." He turned back to the barbarian woman who was quietly observing. "And you are?"

She smiled. "Yasha."

"Yasha. I think I like you too."


End file.
